Hidden Enemy
by Sir Walter Geekly
Summary: Story takes place after Saint's Row: The Third. Even though our heroes are in Steelport there is still trouble in Stilwater. This is my first fanfic. Please R&R. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

The small bronze bell chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer. Ali Hassan looked at the security monitor on the table in the backroom where he was interviewing a potential employee. He noticed the two men walk in with hoods pulled up. He pats the hopeful prospect on the head and she raises her eyes to meet his. "Is there a problem?" He looks down at the young woman on her knees on the filthy linoleum tiled floor, "Get up. Interview's over. I'll call you after I get a few more interviews done." The girl shamefully rises and pulls her t-shirt back on. Ali adds, "Get your stuff and go out the back door…NOW!" She gathers her things and rushes out past the safe into the alley behind the Brownbaggers.

Hassan leans on the table and intently eyes the two men walking through the store. The shorter one is wearing a black generic hoodie and baggy jeans. Hanging out of his back pocket is a black bandana. A bright yellow hood attached to a leather jacket also shrouds the taller one's face. His chino pants are neatly pressed, a golden wallet chain hangs lazily at his side. Every other link of the chain is a small skull which glints brightly as he walks around the store. He stands in front of the camera and points into it. Hassan is taken aback from the brashness of the individual. With a curling finger, he summons the clerk to the sales floor. Ali takes a hard swallow and stuffs the chrome revolver into his belt. Comforted by the weight in the small of his back he smoothes down his hair and adjusts his zipper. He stands in front of the storeroom's door and takes a deep breath.

As the door swings open, the short man walks over to the front door and works the lock. "Hey, you can't lock that man. I'm still open." Ali pleaded with him but was only answered with the familiar click of the lock and a blank face. The tall man walks over to where Ali was standing and rested a hand on the shopkeeper's shoulder. He gave Ali a moment to, hopefully, realize the situation he was in. Moreover, it seemed that the severity of this visit was dawning on him. "Ali, please sit down." The tall man guided the trembling clerk to the stool behind the counter. Ali's mind raced. _Why haven't they pulled guns yet? Who are these assholes? It's okay. I'll be okay. I still have my-. _As he was being comforted by the thought of the snub-nose stuffed in his belt the tall man reaches back and pulls it out. He calmly places it on the counter next to the register. He sucks his teeth and walks around the counter leaving Hassan alone within arm's reach of the piece. The tall man, walking slowly, admires the shop.

"Ali Hassan," he begins in a reminiscent tone, "I remember when I was a little boy walking into this very building. Except back then it was not a Brownbaggers. It was a little shop owned by Mr. And Mrs. Eugene Johnson. I remember Gene would always have candy to hand out to all the neighborhood kids and Mary Beth would bake cookies right around the time we received our report cards. If I remember correctly, one cookie for every 'A'." The tall man laughed at his own musings. Ali was beginning to relax when it finally hit home that this was not a robbery. With a bit of courage he mustered up he spoke, "Listen brother, I don't know what this has to do with me but," The tall man interrupts "We'll get to that part in a second Mr. Hassan. First, let me finish with my history lesson. So where was I? Ah, yes. See, the Johnsons were everything that was right with Stilwater. They were what little boys and girls aspired to be. Then the gangs showed up." The tall man's mood suddenly grew darker. The tension began to build in the small shop. The short man left his post at the front door and walked to the register. Ali reached for the pistol but was stopped cold as a 9-inch hunting knife pinned his hand to the counter. Ali let out a scream as the pain raced up his arm. The short man slowly moved the blade back and forth. Hassan fell from his stool and was on his knees behind the counter. Tears streamed down his face. He sobbed, "What the hell did I ever do to you?" The tall man let out an incredulous gasp. He leaned over the counter and stared into Ali Hassan's bloodshot eyes. "What did _you_ ever do? That is the problem Ali. You did many things. See, Gene and Mary Beth were butchered, like animals, in their shop. Their bodies lay in the very spot where your tears are falling. Why? No one knows. They were robbed and the filth that did it thought it would be fun to hack them up. No one cared. No one tried to stop the gangs that now rule this city. Scum like you Ali. Garbage that lets a gang like the Saints, buy your business in return for protection." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a blood soaked purple bandana. With his left hand, he pulls back on Ali's hair, jerking his chin up. With his right, he holds the grisly trophy up to the clerk's face. "This, Ali Hassan, is the protection that you sold your soul for. Murderous, greedy, blasphemous devils!" Ali's eye's shot back and forth between the two men. The short one dug a small plastic bottle out of his pocket. His assailant looked at the container and its clear contents and then turned back to Ali. A smile crept to his lips. "Mr. Hassan, you have chosen to keep company with demons. And now, you will know the pain of associating with Hell."

The small man uncapped the small bottle to reveal a narrow spray nozzle. He raised the bottle and slowly streamed its contents on the terrified storekeeper. Between sobs, Ali smelled the familiar smell of lighter fluid. The fuel mixed with the tears on his cheeks. He tried to scream but his lungs were void of air. It was all happening so fast now. The small man, ceremoniously pouring the fluid. The tall man seemed to be deep in prayer. A golden lighter held in his right hand. His arms spread wide at his sides. Then he looked down at him. The tall man pulled back his hood to reveal his face, Ali Hassan's eyes widened in horror and disbelief. The tall man spoke the last words Ali Hassan would ever hear. "You, my friend, will be the first of many. Our crusade will cleanse this city of its vices. Seek solace in knowing that your sacrifice will inspire other businesses to turn their backs on these 'Saints'. May God have mercy on your soul Ali Hassan." The lighter rolled through the air and found its target. Ali's clothes ignited first. He felt the icy lick of the flames on his chest. Moments later, the burning began. Ali's cries choked on the black smoke rising off his body. The two men watched the clerk burn until he stopped moving. The short man pulled a bottle of beer out a cooler. He unscrewed the cap and poured it on the charred remains on Ali Hassan. He then pulled the knife out of the counter. Hassan's body crumbled under its own weight. In one fluid motion, he tossed the knife in the air, caught it by the blade and threw it across the room where it buried itself in the wall. The two men exit the store through the back. The short man stopping before entering the back to admire the knife protruding from an advertisement. The blade buried between the eyes of a picture of Johnny Gat.


	2. Chapter 2

The putrid stench of charred flesh hung in the air. A grisly testament to the heinous act committed. Ali Hassan's body was the center of attention. Members of Stilwater's Crime Scene Investigation team were photographing his remains and scattered around the crime scene collecting evidence. A detective walked slowly through the store, absorbing the scene. His mind racing, trying to piece together what, exactly, happened. A preliminary review of the victim's past revealed no glaring possibilities. Ali Hassan had immigrated three years ago and began working at Company of Gyros. After saving up, he purchased a franchise of Brownbaggers a year and half ago. Soon thereafter, he sold half of his franchise to an unnamed buyer. Everyone knows that the unnamed buyer is the Saints. The Saints own every, at least a part, of every major business from here to Steelport. His train of thought was derailed when a young woman called him over to the rear of the store.

"Detective Reynolds, you might want to come back here and see this." The young woman stood and raised her arm so that Reynolds could see where his presence was required. He walked over to the investigator, careful not to disturb any possible evidence. As he stepped closer to the back, he saw an advertisement for Saint's Flow, one of the gang's many ventures into legitimate business. After its creation, Saint's Flow outsold existing energy drinks seven to one. This was confirmation of the popularity and support for the gang, even by law-abiding citizens. His eyes instinctively shoot to the knife protruding from the wall. The blade, buried seven inches through a picture of Johnny Gat. A wave of grief washed over the officer. He knew that he should not grieve for a dead criminal. However, Johnny was more than the second-in-command for the Third Street Saints. He was also the first real friend Reynolds ever had.

_He remembered that day as if it were yesterday. The sky was a dark, gray blanket. The peculiar smell of city life, which seems to emanate from the very core of Stilwater, lingered in the air. His family had just moved to the city that morning after his father was promoted to Regional Manager for Freckle Bitch's. He remembers his father arriving from work and smelling of hamburgers and fries every night. He reached the conclusion that it all paid off in the end. The moving truck was still in the driveway when his mother decided that it would be best if he went to the corner store and bought some soda and cold cuts for lunch. "Now Samuel, you ride your bike to the store and back." She lectured him with a light smile on her lips. "Don't speak to strangers, remember, this is not Smithville." He smiled as he mounted his bicycle. "I will mom… and I won't talk to strangers either." Samuel peddled off down the street towards the tiny store they had passed on the drive in. _

_Instantly the differences in culture were apparent to Samuel. Smithville was a humble farming community. Everyone knew each other and was willing to help with any problem that would arise. Stilwater was very different. Three blocks from his new house, Samuel got his first taste of city life. Four young men were kicking a homeless man and shouting obscenities at him. Samuel stopped his bike and stood, dumbfounded, watching this act of alien brutality. "And this is for smelling like shit!" shouted one as his foot came down on the man's head with a vicious stomp. He remembers the sound of the man's skull making contact with asphalt. The thugs continued their assault until one looked over and noticed Samuel staring slack jawed at the beating. "What the fuck you looking at?" yelled one as he walked over to Samuel. His face was dotted with the blood of his victim. The crimson liquid streaked his blonde hair. "I said what the fuck you looking at, bitch?" Samuel began to stammer. A younger boy that was still standing over the homeless man pulled a lock of hair back to get a better look at Samuel. Squinting he called out "I've never seen that kid before Dean." The older boy looked at Samuel and smiled at him. Samuel took a few steps back and rolled his bike a few inches away from the older boy. The one named Dean was eyeing him the way a wolf looks at its prey. He stepped forward and gripped the handlebars of Samuel's bike. "Ah hell kid, I didn't mean to scare you. Let's start over…" he shot his right hand out towards the frightened boy. "… Name's Dean. What's yours?" Samuel tried to swallow but couldn't. His mouth was dry and his heart was racing. He reached up and took Dean's hand, "I'm Samuel…we…we… just moved here." Dean tightened his grip on Samuel's hand. "Well, Samuel, welcome to Stilwater." With a swift motion, Dean tugged on Samuel's arm and drove his forehead into Samuel's face. The boy's eyes watered and everything went black for a moment. The next thing he realized, he was on ground and the other three boys were bolting down the alley to join Dean in kicking him. Two of them tugged at his jeans and shoes while Dean and the younger boy kicked him in the ribs and back. They found the money in his pocket and were able to pull the shoes off his feet. Once they had the money, Samuel thought they would leave him alone. He soon would realize that in Stilwater, criminals hold nothing back. They pulled him up and held him up against a wall. Dean took a few shots at his already bruised midsection. The two boys holding him up took turns stomping on his bare feet. Samuel screamed out. Tears streamed down his face. The coppery taste of his own blood and the punches to his stomach were making him feel sick. Dean grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks together. He looked into Samuel's tear-filled eyes "Little baby wants to cry?" He spit in Samuel's face. "I'll give you something to cry about." He looked at the two holding him, "Turn this little bitch around." The boys looked and each other and gave Dean a doubting glance. Dean glared at the boys. Reluctantly, they turned him around._

_Samuel was in the panic throes. It was all beginning to happen so fast. He felt Dean tug his jeans down. In his confusion, he looked at the two boys holding him up. He tried to struggle, but life on the streets of Stilwater had hardened these boys. They maintained their vice-like grip while ensuring that they were not making eye contact with Samuel. He felt the older boy put one hand on his shoulder and then…. "What the …" Dean's outburst was cut short by the distinct sound of shattering glass and the spray of broken glass and stale beer that showered Samuel. The two boys let go. Samuel looked at them and could see that terror had etched itself on their faces. He turned and saw the younger boy was already a block and half away and as he turned around a corner, he disappeared. He turned his attention to his ordeal. Standing over the prone figure of his attacker was a slightly older Asian boy. In his hand, he held a broken bottle. He pointed down at Dean with his makeshift weapon. "Now Dean, what did I tell you about raping people?" He looks up at Samuel and then back down at Dean, disgust creeping to his expression. "A dude? Just 'cause I warned you about the ladies doesn't mean you can move on dudes you freak." The two boys start to move away and this draws the attention of Samuel's savior. "And where do you think you two are going? Someone needs to carry this sack of shit home to his mommy." He motions to Dean with the bottle. As the boys move slowly towards Dean, the he grabs one by the back of his head and drives a knee into his face. His nose pops loudly and he falls to the floor next to Dean, crying in pain holding his face, blood pouring through his fingers. "Well I guess that leaves you then huh?" The last of the two boys falls on his rear as he scurries down the alley. He backs away as the young man walks casually towards him. He corners himself near a dumpster. He begins to plead, arms stretched out shielding him from the Asian boy, "P-p-p-lease Johnny. We didn't mean it. We was just foolin'. Dean wasn't gonna do anything. He was just…just…ju…" The boy begins to cry. Samuel, jeans secured around his waist again, walks over to the scene. He notices that the boy wet himself. The one named Johnny looks back at Samuel, "You okay kid?" Samuel nods and weakly adds "Thank you." A half smile on his lips, Johnny looks back at his cornered prey. "No worries kid. Now what do we do with this asshole?" Samuel looks down at his attacker and spits on him. "Let him go. Maybe he'll learn to not treat people like dirt." Shocked, Johnny looks back at him. "They were gonna rape you. You sure you just want to let him go?" Samuel looks at Johnny and smiles. "Yeah I'm sure. Besides I don't think he was down for the whole rape thing." Jonny looks down at the boy and kicks him between the legs. The boy topples over with a whimper and Samuel winces at the sight. Johnny looks at him and shrugs, "What? Just in case he wants to get all rapey again." _

_They leave the alley and walk together to the convenience store. Leaving the bike outside, the two boys walk in and are greeted by a kindly man who stops suddenly when seeing Samuel's injuries. "Oh boy," said the man. He then called towards the back room, "Mary Beth… get out here with the first aid kit." After some protesting from Samuel the couple patched him up and allowed him to take the groceries he needed, free of charge. The boys begin the trek back to Samuel's house and make some small talk along the way. Johnny looks over at Samuel, "So Samuel huh? Maybe that's why you got your ass kicked. You can't call yourself Samuel. You're Sam from now on okay?" Samuel smiles and nods his approval. When they're a few houses away Johnny lets Sam know that he needs to be somewhere and with a smile puts his hand out. Sam takes it and thanks Johnny again. "Don't mention it Sam….hey, Welcome to Stilwater." _

"So what do you make of it Sam?" A short, round detective eating a bear-claw motions towards the knife. "Sam?" Reynolds eyes the fat man as he slowly drifts back from his trip down memory lane. "Sam? Earth to Reynolds." Sam shakes it off, "Um, not sure. A move against the Saints maybe. It can't be a threat on Gat. Possibly one of the other gangs looking for retribution?" All of these were definite possibilities. Reynolds excused himself and stepped outside. News crews had swarmed the crime scene when it was leaked that the crime might be Saints related. News travels fast in this town. Sam walked around the side of the building and found some privacy in his car. He reached up and tapped the earpiece that was tethered to his phone. " Call…Shaundi."


End file.
